


see                  i will comfort you

by bladeCleaner



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, F/M, Incest, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 01:10:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bladeCleaner/pseuds/bladeCleaner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>because you smell so sweetly<br/>-e. e. cummings</p>
            </blockquote>





	see                  i will comfort you

**Author's Note:**

> A HSWC br1 prompt.

Your brother smells like hurricanes, shaving cream and chocolate cake. When you guys hug and you take a deep sniff of his suit, you feel the wind tickle your nose and the curious pre-storm rainscent that always makes you happy right before a roaring storm. Of course, he smells nothing like that in reality, but reality is your welding block, isn't it? Something that you can suture and meld to what you like. Space is cool like that. You really like being a Witch. Plus, being a dog-Witch is super cool too. You can pick up all sorts of things you couldn't before! Like the scent of fear iron-hot on your tongue, or the beating of Davesprite's wings just next door with just a slight adjustment of your ears. The palms of your hands have contained planets, like playing pool in space-one day you say space, space, space, and tap the space bar over and over again until John tells you you're not being funny. Ever since that fateful day, everything is new again. Rebirth is a crazy thing!  
  
Davesprite smells like Cheetos and excessive AJ. You thought he'd leak orange all over your nasals, but-  
  
What comes out of him is an utter fatal sadness. Like, not the kind that your other stupid self had, but unbelievable, lucid _melancholy_ , words that Rose would use. You want to-fix it, to kiss it away somehow. He's still Dave, even if he isn't yours, and you don't mention to him that nights you wish he smelled like cherries, like you know your Dave does. He can tell, you know he can tell in that way that sprites always seem to, and in turn you don't say anything to him about the way he looks at John sometimes when he's asleep on the couch.  
  
Other things you pick up on the yellow ship:   
  
The way John's heart beats faster whenever you touch him, after a year or so. The first time you give him a quizzical look and say, "John, are you alright?"   
  
He gives you one of his own-and it doesn't shock, anymore, that he looks almost like a mirror-and shakes his head.   
  
You don't think about it anymore, just take your hand back from his shoulder.  
  
You ignore it whenever it comes up later, even if it makes your dog instincts sit up and bark. John said at the start he didn't want any more complications thinking about romance. You don't need to be a Seer to know what lies down that road.  
  
\--  
  
The memory of Rose pops up sometimes. In bed, right before you fall asleep, and you remember some funny thing she posted up on the Squiddle forums. Sometimes when that happens, you get up the next morning (mornings don't really happen in the ship, but Davesprite reminds you what time it would have been back on Earth, even if it doesn't exist anymore), put on your big girl ruby slippers and shrink down to LOLAR.  
  
You really, really like her planet. It's second only to yours, of course. It's stunningly lurid. Sometimes you sneak off and splash around in the waters. Your God-tier socks and ruby slippers lie by the magenta shore, sand sparkling a million colours, and you fold up your skirt so that it doesn't drag on the water. You find Davesprite on the dock sometimes, your feet dripping mother-of-pearl through the cracks, looking inscrutable. Maybe he misses her too.  
  
One sad thing about her land-as pretty as it is, with its cotton candy pinks and butter yellows, edged with royal violet clouds-there's no flowers, or plants, or trees. It's barren chalk sand for miles. You find it a sort of waste. You hop over to your guardian atrium and wish that you had the power to bring all the dead plants back to life; in all your rebirth haze you'd forgotten to water all of them. Curiously enough, all your pumpkins are not wilted on the ground along with the corn and peas; they've vanished.  
  
You decide to leave a nice note behind in her room, anyway, scrawled in her favorite purple, covered in drawings of pumpkin squash and orchids. You, despite everything, still hold yourself to be a great artist and horticulturist. You promise to make her a grand big bouquet one day, when all this is over, themed in the colour of a sunrise.  
  
You put it down on her bed and take a moment to smell the room. You've seen it in your dreams, of course. But never were you able to step into it. It smells like morning-glories and the smell of a forest right after a bolt of lightning. They shouldn't mix, but they do in a nice kind of way. You feel comfort that feels warm in your belly. You realize, later, that it was the room where she'd met John for the first time, even if she'd been asleep at the time.   
  
\--  
  
When you see Dave again, it's in the midst of a battlefield. Your eyes blur and you leap into his arms as he bleeds down your shoulder.  
  
The first words he ever says to you after three years of separation are:  
  
"Harley, you smell like dog- _OW_!"  
  
"Jerk!" You yell, while trying hard not to smile.


End file.
